


Telepathy doesn't fix bullet holes

by Echo



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: All violence is off-screen though, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gun Violence, Hospitals, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:51:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7444945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echo/pseuds/Echo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hank is seriously injured, Charles has some feelings to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Telepathy doesn't fix bullet holes

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fic for Molls, in response to 'Bright and Cold':  
>  _Let this time Charles worried about Hank ( as he was heavily wounded in the fight or something hurt him mentally)_
> 
> Set some time vaguely after DoFP, but with no particular spoilers for any of the movie plots.
> 
> Relationship could be really close friendship or romance, however you choose to read it.

Charles had never been particularly interested in medicine. Studying genetics had required him to take numerous classes in biology, but the practicalities of actually tending another person had never fascinated him in quite the same way that the interrelationships of chromosomes had. Fortunately, Hank had been there, able and willing to pick up the slack when it came to dealing with the regular, minor (and sometimes less than minor) ailments and injuries the students always seemed to end up with. It had taken barely two months of studying medicine by correspondance for Hank to surpass Charles' knowledge of the field.

Not that that helped either of them now. Not when Hank was the one lying on the hospital bed. Pale and still. _Physician, heal thyself_ indeed.

That long neglected biological training in Charles' head kept trying to suggest the word 'Cyanosis', even though the diagnosis was obviously wrong. The blue tinge to Hank's skin and lips was nothing to do with the oxygen levels in his blood; it was a sign that the serum was very close running out. Even so, it made him appear deathly pale, and the gauze dressing look even more unnaturally white.

For the dozenth time, Charles went to draw the blanket up over Hank's exposed chest, then stopped. The room was already warm, and Hank had expressed many times how much he hated being overheated. Charles carefully folded the top of the sheets back down instead, making them neat.

"Hi."

Tension he hadn't realized he had been holding dissolved from his shoulders, as he turned to see blue eyes blinking slowly at him.

"You're awake!" He said, self-evidently.

"And alive, it seems."" Hank replied, words slightly slurred from sleep and pain killers, "Not sure I was entirely expecting that."

The sick feeling of muted horror which had been occupying the pit of Charles' stomach stirred. He wanted to take Hank's hand, but stopped himself. He wasn't sure quite why.

"How much do you remember?"

Hank's eyes drifted down and slightly to the left, the way they often did when he was thinking. "Something hit me, I think. It burned." Hank angled his chin downwards so that he could see the gauze on his chest. "Was I shot?"

"Twice." Charles said, feeling more relieved than proud that his voice didn't shake or crack at that admission. Then, because it needed saying, "They haven't found the shooter. Yet."

"Oh." Hank seemed to consider that information carefully, then relaxed his head back into the pillow. "Okay then."

Part of Charles wanted Hank to panic, to cry or scream so that Charles could be the one to calm him, but long years of experience looking into other people's heads had taught him that one of the most common reactions to trauma initially was disassociation. The human mind didn't always react to things the way other humans expected them to. Charles on the other hand, was well past disassociation. Shock, horror and fear had well and truly set in, but he had to keep them under control for Hank's sake.

Even so, the silence lasted only a few seconds before Charles started to get anxious again. "Are you okay? Can I get you anything?"

"Hmm. Water? And my glasses? Everything's fuzzy." suggested Hank, which gave Charles something useful to do for several minutes. Once that was sorted though, he was back to where he started. "I'll probably need some more serum soon." Hank observed, the vague sleepiness still present but clearing. Charles nodded again. He'd thought about that probably a few thousand times over the past day.

"I have some for you, I had one of the students brought it in this morning. The hospital has you on rather a lot of medication though. I wasn't sure if it would be safe to mix the treatments. No need to fret about discovery though, I've been making the staff think everything's normal in the mean time."

"That's... very sensible. Can you find a list of what I'm on? Then I'll know if..." Hank yawned loudly, then stalled as though he had forgotten what he was saying.

"You should probably try to get some more rest." Charles suggested, even though a huge part of him rebelled at the thought of Hank closing his eyes again. An awake Hank was unambiguously alive. A sleeping Hank was... Not so. "I'll stay here and keep watch."

Hank's brow furroughed.

"A student dropped in the serum this morning?" He asked, confused. "How long have I been here?"

"Since early yesterday. You woke up once or twice, but fell asleep again almost immediately. This is the first time you've really been... present."

Hank shook his head, or rather, rolled it from side to side on the pillow. "But, if I've been here since yesterday, why didn't you bring the serum in yourself?"

Charles silently cursed Hank's deductive reasoning, which apparently didn't even falter under very powerful pain killers.

"I've haven't been back to the mansion yet. I wanted to be here in case you need me."

"Where did you sleep?"

"I haven't, not yet."

Hank looked far more disapproving than should have been possible, given he was still clearly having trouble focusing.

"You're not supposed to stay in your chair for such long periods. You'll get pressure sores."

Charles made a sound that might have been a laugh and might have been a sob. "You were shot, Hank. You had major surgery. What in the world are you doing worrying about me?"

"I'm supposed to worry about you." Hank replied, vaguely petulant and with an expression that could almost be called a pout.

"But you almost died." Only after the words were out did Charles realise how quiet and shakey his voice had suddenly become. "You almost died. I thought you _had_ died, when the students said you'd been hit. You know I've lost people before, Hank, you've seen me lose people over and over again, but somehow I assumed... You've been my fixed point, my constant, for so many years, and when they said that you might not be okay... I was frightened. Frightened and powerless, and it turns out that telepathy doesn't do a damn thing to fix bullet holes. So I did the only thing I could do; stay here with you and do my best to keep you safe." He paused for a moment, watching Hank. Then, drawing on the tattered remains of his composure, took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "A little fatigue, even a pressure sore, those are things I'll survive. But I was needed here, and I needed to be here, so here I am."

Hank said nothing for several seconds, then gave a small shy smile. "I'm glad you were here when I woke up."

Charles sighed, closed his eyes and let his head droop just a little. "I'm glad too."

"But you still shouldn't stay in the chair for so long."

Charles chuckled, partly at Hank's persistence and parly to diffuse the tense emotional state of the room. "I understand, Hank and I'll..." Then Hank started moving, shuffling himself over to one side of the bed. Charles' eyes widened in horror. "Hank, no!"

Hank only pulled a face at the brief discomfort though, then settled into a position. After a few moments of slightly labored breathing, he patted the space he had just vacated.

It was silly, of course, but Hank looked so hopeful, and he'd already gone to such effort. Of course, Charles would have been outright lying if he said he didn't want to be closer to Hank too.

He wheeled over, dropped the side handle on the chair, and with some awkwardness transferred himself onto the bed. "Better?"

Hank pulled another face. "No. Lie down."

It was far too narrow to be practical. Hospital beds were not built for sharing, especially by a paraplegic who tended to need more than average maneuvering room to get himself organized. And yet...

The pillow made a squeaking sound as he placed his head on it. Hank smiled again.

"Hmm. You're warm."

"Is that okay? I wasn't sure if you'd be too hot."

"It's perfect."

When they both woke several hours later, Charles had to edit quite a few memories of the pale patient who suddenly turned blue and furry while he slept.

But he didn't regret it for a moment.


End file.
